Date
by Lil Mocha
Summary: Really, what good would come from him adopting them into his family? As if they would give up evil, or even remotely go easy on them for any reason. -sigh- Professor Utonium and his bright ideas. Rating: K plus to Teen.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue: Christmas with Puddles

_I don't own the Powerpuff Girls, I only watched them as a kid._

_.x.X.x._

_ It was like Christmas with puddles on the ground— _that was how Bubbles often times explained their first meeting as 'friends'. Buttercup, on the other hand, had not approved of the sudden intrusion into her life. They'd been ushered into their home by their ever-gleeful father, clothed in clean clothes and fed with _her_ food that she'd spent _her time cooking_ so she could _eat_.

_"Look girls! I brought home some new friends!"_ the Professor had called as he placed a hand on the blue and green boys' shoulders and pulled them into a crushing embrace with the red ones cheeks like pufferfish as he struggled for air. Bubbles had bounded down the stairs jabbering about always wanting a new pet, and Blossom had followed to see what the commotion was about. Buttercup had stayed in place looking from green, to red, to blue, and finally back to the mint green cups of fluff that she had wanted to devour. They jiggled almost tauntingly, as if warning her that they were about to topple on themselves in a strange sort of exotic flounce.

_"Girls please!"_ the Professor had called, turning his back so the three powered boys were not in the line of fire,_ "This is for your own good!"_

_"It's okay Professor!"_ a menacing pink glow was already forming around her hands as she instructed Bubbles to try and find any traces of a mind control device, _"We'll save you!"_

_"We don't need this!"_ the black haired boy, Butch, had called, pushing out of the tightened grip and taking a battle stance, eyes glowing green and spiked hair seeming to take a sharper point. She'd later learn that this was his last chance at escaping their new fate.

_"__**You**__ don't need this? I have a project due!"_ a laser of pink lightly kissed the Professors white lab coat and left it burnt as it sailed passed the shocked emerald iris of the black haired boy. The Professor, dazed, let free the other two boys in his grasp, who quickly flanked their brother as Bubbles reported no traces of mind-control devices.

_"Then you should be thanking me!"_ Blossom had danced away from the looming streaks of green that followed his taunt. Buttercup felt the boom shake the foundation of the kitchen, _shake her_ _soufflé._

"_Hey!"_ Blossom yelled through gritted teeth, ducking behind a tri-colored loveseat in the corner of the room, "_That could've hurt someone!"_

"_No, really?"_

_"Sorry about this Professor!"_

_Crash. Jiggle._

_"Would you quit it?"_

_Jiggle. Boom. Jiggle._

_"F- What side are you on?!"_

_Boom. Crack. Jiggle. _

_Pzzzzts…._

_"Be QUIET!"_

Time no longer seemed to move in that slow motion kind of way that came with fights as a menacing aura of green surrounded the baking puff and a rolling pin standing erect and at attention, eager for vengeance. Professor, Puff and Ruff alike seemed to shrink down almost immediately. The lights that had hung lazily now seemed to be holding on for dear life.

"Now sit. _Down_."

She took a deep breath, searching for her inner happy place and remembering the words of a wise sensei and an annoyingly accurate fortune cookie she'd had earlier. _'Today is a bad day for dessert'_ it had said. She sighed;her soufflé had already fallen over, _nothing_ could've made it any worse.

"Pssh," she heard a voice whisper, "Stupid food doesn't even look that good."

Her inner peace could wait. The rolling pin found itself firmly situated in Butch's face, which seemed almost like a cushion for the wooden utensil. Buttercup observed her handy work and with a '_hmph_', briefly regretted not using the one with splinters instead. "Professor, what were you saying?"

_.x.X.x._

_Not much to say, it seems._

_Yes? No? Let me know!_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One: _Meal Ticket_

_I don't own the Powerpuff Girls, I only watched them as a kid._

_.x.X.x._

Brick was scared. Though he might not have shown it, he was honest to all that was evil, scared. He felt vulnerable and weak and cold and _hungry_.

_Man_, was he hungry.

In the last month the monster plagued city of Townsville had become a place most terrifying for the ginger haired super being. Well, _ex_-super being. Him had taken a strange interest in chemistry.

_Argh—_he hadn't even realized that he'd fallen. The pavement was almost ever presently on his cheek nowadays. He heard snickering from behind him and a taunting chant of, _'Weirdo got ran over by a reindeer'_ and felt heat rush to his face. He choked back his rage induced eye sweat, stood up, and walked away without sparing a glance at his assailants.

"_Hey, now whatta we have here?"_

He stopped walking and quickly regretted it.

"_Is dat Brick? A RowdyRuff?"_

"_Daw, sure looks like it Baws."_

Of all the gosh darned times for this to happen. Brick sent two rushed glances to his sides, but was unsurprised when Boomer and Butch were nowhere to be seen. Not that it would make much of a difference; they were just as powerless as he was.

"_sss… I think he'sss ignoring usss…"_

"_Y'know what? I tink you're right."_ Brick could smell the anchovies on his breath, _"And whatta we do ta people who ignore us?"_

"_Let them go…?"_

There was a dull _thunk_ in the background.

"_No, idiot. __**We chase**__."_

Over the span of three years, for whatever hellish and incomprehensible reason the world had decided to choose, it'd been made apparent to the Gangreen Gang that there was no better source for laughs than the terrified screams of the chase. Normally Brick would bystand on a nearby building, watching the foolish victim pee their pants and narrowly escape with a few minor strokes, but every once in a while he'd dress up in a cute little get up and let them chase him, just for kicks, before turning round and beating them within an inch of their lives. Funny, it wasn't as entertaining when you couldn't fly out of reach.

He ran as fast as his eight-ear-old stubs of legs would carry him, taking lefts and rights and finally ducking into an alleyway and watching with hitched breaths as they sped past him, unawares.

In hindsight, maybe taking this road was a bad idea on his part.

_.x.X.x._

"What's taking him so long?!"

It was now 2:16, half an hour past when they were supposed to meet, and Boomer was tired of waiting. He was a _RowdyRuff_ for evil's sake! Patience was _not_ part of the job description.

If he'd had his powers, he'd go straight into that bakery and steal every single thing… that… _was that a butterfly?_

_Oi, snap out of it! _he was now vaguely aware of light footsteps coming from behind him. Putting on his meanest face, he turned to the source, ready to battle with all that his powerless body had within him.

His assailant was 'That weird old Lady' from a few nights back. She smiled sweetly, exposing sugar pink gums and pearly dentures, _"Hello Sonny!"_ she croaked, giving his cheek a gentle tug,_ "You've been out here for quite a while haven't you?"_

He growled, roughly shoving her hand away from his cheek and glaring harder at her. Had his powers still been active, the old hag would've been a smoldering stack of smithereens by now. He muttered a cross, _Lemme alone,_ and was about to take off if not for a growl of indignation erupting from his stomach. The old lady laughed.

"_Hungry?"_

Boomer felt ashamed. He looked down at the pavement, holding in tears, cursing Him and wondering where in the world his brothers were to get him _away_ from there. He could almost hear them taunting him with big grins on their stupid faces.

"_Tell ya what, sonny. You just go right in there and tell them to give you all the leftovers. Tell 'em that Irma sent you, okay?"_ And then she winked. She just had to wink, didn't she?

Boomer felt himself shrink, but his growling gut wouldn't let him have his shame. He muttered a begrudged _thank you_, the words coming out as more of a curse than anything sort of gratitude, and took the folded white sheet of paper from the old lady's grasps. She chuckled once more.

"_No problem dearie!"_

Boomer wanted to scream.

_.x.X.x._

Butch felt horrible.

_What? You didn't __**tell **__them Brickie? __**But they're your brothers! **__It's not nice to keep secrets, __**IS IT.**_

He felt a shiver run up and down his spine a few times before passing. He hated this. Having to run, having to hide, having to steal. That wasn't to say that he hated stealing or running per say. Oh no, he _loved_ that. It was the sense of urgency behind it that he didn't like. He stole because he wanted to, dangit! Not because he would _die_ without it! It just wasn't how he _rolled_.

He supposed what he hated most was all the time that had mystically opened up now that they weren't flying everywhere. Before, they could be in Cuba one second, Megaville the next. He simply did not walk. It was not _done._

_Did you know that humans have these things called the beeends? It's what happens when they come out of deep water too faaast~!_ His creepy old pervert of a 'Father' had drawled, _Little bubbles form aaall over their bodies. __**I HEAR IT HURTS.**_

He felt his joints begin to burn again at the memory. Him was right; it hurt like _hell_. Shaking off the trauma and ducking a small mint blanket into his shirt, Butch walked coolly out of the small convenience store and into a back alleyway, out of sight. He frowned; this wasn't fun. Not. At. All.

_**THAT'S WHAT YOU CAN EXPECT IF YOU EVER DISOBEY ME AGAIN**_.

Butch stopped walking; his heart was suddenly in overdrive. Was it because of Him?_ No, of course not_. RowdyRuff's weren't scared of anything!

He hoped no one had seen him as he picked up his pace, just a little, and avoided the shadowed corners that were away from the streetlights.

_.x.X.x._

The Professor smiled at the sight of his perfect little angels hard at work—school work, that is. Buttercup was good with numbers, Bubbles with literature, and Blossom was an all-round scholar because of how hard she'd studied…_except_ escape literature, which Bubbles was now trying to coach her through.

"_Think about your bow, Blossom, how do you feel about it?"_

"_It's approximately four inches wide, with a length that shifts depending on…"_

"_Objective, failed_."

Oh, his girls were growing fast… so fast… so very fast.

He wasn't ready for this.

It wasn't the first time he'd noticed, and he doubted there would ever be a last. 45-odd-years-old was not young anymore. It hadn't been for a _long _time. In as much as he wanted to avoid the thought, there would come a time when either the girls wouldn't have him around or they wouldn't need him.

It scared him senseless and had driven him into frenzied hours of restless work. The lab was now equipped with a special A.I. defense mechanism with an instructions video (he loved those nifty new disc's) that would keep the girls and a few close friends safe for at least twenty years if ever something horrible were to happen. He was working on a youth tonic once again, but it still didn't work to his liking.

He wasn't demanding. He promised he wasn't. He just…he didn't want them to ever be in some kind of trouble that was too much for them to handle. He couldn't even bear to think of it.

"Girls~!" He called from the doorway, "I'm going out for a walk!" he'd hoped that maybe one of them would volunteer to come with him as they usually did. There was a coupon for a free four-person dinner that expired that night, and he was _definitely_ in the mood for some spaghetti and meatballs. The hope was smothered by the replies that followed.

"_Nngh."_

"_Later Professor."_

"_Blossom, NOOO!"_

Professor Utonium left the white rectangle of a house feeling particularly defeated. He didn't even realize it when he'd come a park on the other side of the city until he ran into three disheveled and upset little boys.

"Oh. Pardon me," he apologized, petting them good naturedly on the heads, much to their chagrin, then stopped and peered closer at the short trio. He'd seen them somewhere before… he knew he had. The firetruck red hat was a dead giveaway. "Say, aren't you guys the RowdyRuff Boys?"

Two of the boys visibly cringed at the name and the ginger-haired boy (the leader, he presumed) glared at him, a scowl plastered on his face that read of utter contempt. "What of it?" he hissed.

The Professor suddenly had no words to call his own, "N-never mind boys, carry on!" he began to inch slowly around them, being particularly cautious when he came near the one with the stalagmite hair. He took his time to look around the scenery when he realized that they were staring back at him, if not with a gaze more potent than his own. _Oh my gosh_, he thought worriedly, he wasn't ready for this. _The Girls_ weren't ready for this.

He could already see their reactions; Bubbles refusing to smile again or even leave the house after six. Buttercup becoming some kind of underground anti-heroine wearing _way_ too much makeup and revealing so much skin sometimes little trees would grow on her. And Blossom…

The grass rested on his cheek before he could predict the fate of his 'eldest' child. _This is it…_ he took a deep breath, his throat suddenly making the Sahara desert jealous, and turned to look at his soon-to-be executioners. He wanted his girls to know that he hadn't died with his eyes closed, that he'd looked his death straight in the eye.

He was puzzled when his death still hadn't stood up and turned him into some kind of human meatball. Were they prolonging his demise? Did they want to take him hostage? He watched, awestruck, as the other two boys (What were their names again? He really did wish he paid more attention to the Girls' villains), helped their blonde haired brother up and scolded him for being "Stupid" and "Clumsy".

And then they walked away.

Relief flooded over him in cool waves as he felt the warmth slowly creep back into his face. He wiped his brow, silently thanking God for another day with his children. He would have gotten up and started to walk away had it not been for the warm and sticky presence on his hands.

Blood?

It couldn't be his. He hadn't fallen nearly hard enough for anything to break skin, and there had been no stones or rocks beneath him. Yet there it was. The Professor stared at it, transfixed, and began to rub it between his fingers like something akin to rich soil. His years of professionalism stopped him from smelling it, though there was a lingering smell of cherries in the air. A quick survey of his body confirmed his hunch.

It wasn't his.

But that couldn't be right. The Girls had been home nearly an hour, and he himself lacked any sort of damage. So whose was it? He scanned the ground beneath him for some kind of hurt marsupial, but all he found was shallow pools in the direction that the trio of boys had left.

He blinked, staring at the distant figures in shock, and found himself rushing after them. "Boys, oh boys!" He really didn't know what he was doing, didn't even realize that he was doing it until he passed a sign that read 'Now entering Downtown Townsville'. He was moving solely based on the realization that he now processed in his head. _Whatever had hurt the boys would be more than capable of hurting his girls, and that he could not allow._ Downtown Townsville blurred at his sides, becoming little more than specks of yellow on a canvas of navy as he sped after the three miscreants.

"_Brick, dude, that's __**nasty**__!"_

"_I'm gonna be sick!"_

He heard two _thunks_ in the next alley and was pleased with himself when he found the three boys with a green blanket between them and a big red stain. They stared at him. He stared back, tongue suddenly becoming shy and refusing him the decency of speech. He pulled out the coupon instead, and muttered something to the effect of "Four dine for free, this Friday from four thirty to five?" And did what he hoped was a smile.

_.x.X.x._

Brick now sported multiple Pinkie-Pie band aids and sipped furiously on a strange and smooth pink mixture. It chilled his teeth and left his tongue buzzed and his lips pursed. It took his mind off the fact that he was eating lunch with his worst enemy's creator. He looked to his brothers in a moment of curiosity to find Butch indulge himself in the wings that were _supposed_ to be for the table. Boomer sat nearest the enemy and was talking about something that Brick paid little mind to. It irritated him seeing them relaxed so easily, and he absentmindedly reached for a chicken to exact his fury on.

Butch stopped him midway, glowering like some kind of beast while glaring daggers and pointing the remains of a brutalized bird in his direction. His eyes read, _"Don't. You. Dare."_ and for once Brick backed down, raising his hands in defeat. He scowled and looked forward towards the strange, bug-eyed clock and tried figuring out what it said.

"_Is your arm still bleeding?"_

The question caught him off guard and he stared at the older man for a moment, tempted to mutter some snide comment. Instead, he pulled off the band aid nearest his hand and exposed the partially closed wound to the man. What was he, anyway? Some kind of Doctor? Who wore coats like that outside of Hospitals?

_Who let five year olds defeat monsters on a regular basis?_

_Who treated his creations nemesis to lunch?_

Brick glowered in annoyance. This was fine and dandy and whatever they wanted to think, but something about it set him off. He half expected it was some kind of trick, that the girls were actually hidden somewhere in the restaurant _(he suspected the lady sitting to their right, whose chest was obviously too big to be real)_. He cleared his throat, getting the attention of his brothers and the man in white.

"So, bub, while this is nice and all," he made gestures like he had seen in the videos Mojo used to show them. He frowned slightly and tried to forget the smell of burnt monkey flesh, "What's your game?"

The man blinked, oblivious, "My game?" he repeated, almost parrot like, "Old Maid, I guess?"

Brick felt like hitting the man.

"_Why did you bring us here?"_

"Ooh." The man's composure shifted ever-so-slightly and Brick noticed a slight twitch at the corner of his eye, "Did something… What I mean to say is…"

Butch had stopped eating at this point and was now sucking on a carcass of bone, his gaze directed at the man with a sort of bemused intrigue.

"_Spit it out_" Brick seethed.

The man tensed again, took a breath and then steadied his gaze. "Very well then. You've been bleeding for almost a half hour now."

Brick winced. Maybe the man _was_ from the Hospital.

"I need to know why." The room seemed to darken almost instantly. Boomer stopped staring at the shiny metal in front of him and Butch's chicken dropped from its cushion on his lip.

"Why_?"_

The man cleared his throat and straightened his tie, obviously unnerved by their placid stares. "If something is capable of hurting _you,"_ he started, his eyes shut tightly, "then I can imagine that it can hurt my girls, too."

"As if we'd ever—," a loud thunk followed Butch's outburst. He glared at his flame-headed brother and ungracefully plopped a chicken wing into his mouth, chewing angrily.

"What's in it for us?"

The man's breath hitched and his eyes sparkled slightly, "We can decide that after I find out what caused this."

Brick looked at his brothers. Butch shook his head furiously while Boomer looked uncertain.

"No way Jose," Butch made a fist pumping motion, and Boomer smiled a little, "how do we even know we can trust you?" He felt powerful watching the man squirm, despite the fact that he was now probably more at his mercy than ever before. It made him feel a little bit immortal.

The man squirmed once more, a look of annoyance creeping into his eyes, "It's something to do with your powers, right? Your healing factor would have kicked in by now, and you would've been flying around otherwise, right?" he stopped, murmuring things that Brick couldn't understand to himself, "Did Mojo? Did Him? Did they...?"

Butch was at his limit, "_WHAT ARE YOU RAMBLING ABOUT?!"_

The man stared through them with a combination of horror and pity pooling in his eyes, _"Did they… do things to you?"_

…_Silence…_

Boomer was the one to reply, his face flushed red and his pupils small despite the dim lighting, "No! Of course not! They just took away our powers!"

Butch and Brick simultaneously groaned. The Powerpuff man stared, his mouth hanging open slightly like the talking dogs did when he was hungry. "_And they left you like that?"_

Butch rolled his eyes and muttered a cross, "There's no point in hiding it now," before returning to his beloved wings, consuming them once again at a rapid pace. Boomer looked down at the shiny metal cutlery, arranging then messing it up in a way that kept his eyes on the table and away from Brick's angered ones.

"It was Da-Him. Mo-jo's in a monkey rehab somewhere in Ultraville. Been there for half a year now." Brick explained, suddenly tired, "Him took our powers finally about a month ago. Said that he'd had enough of 'insolent little boys', whatever that means." He shrugged nonchalantly, playing off the soreness he felt every time he thought of Him's 'discipline'. It wasn't that bad this time, though. Only his knee threatened to collapse on itself.

_**YOU ARE ALL WRETCHED LITTLE BOYS. STAY ON THE STREETS FOR ALL I CARE!**_ The crossdressing demon had turned his back to them, then slowly, shielded by the sudden shadows that seemed to cut through the room like knives, smiled. _But I have one last gift for you Devils~!_

Bricks arm suddenly felt like it was going to fall off. He became quiet and noticed that Boomer had stopped arranging, and Butch had stopped binging and was now scowling at him. "Well there goes my appetite!" He complained, crossing his arms and glaring at his half empty basin of chicken wings as if hoping they would come to life and fly him away from this place. "We don't even have a microwave near the dumpster to warm it up later. It won't taste good cold."

This seemed to upset the Powerpuff Creator even more, as thin lips turned almost non-existent. "I think…" he started clearly. When Brick peered closer at him his eyes betrayed a sea of uncertainty, "I have a proposition for you."

_.x.X.x._

_Nothing to see here homies~!_


	3. Chapter 3

_I still have no rights to the PowerPuff Girls, and for that I am thankful._

_.x.X.x._

Six children were seated in rows on either side of the Professor. Three of them were his perfect angels, and the other three regularly made attempts at their lives. He questioned for the third time since they'd stopped careening each other off the walls exactly _what_ he'd accomplish by doing this.

"Bubbles, would you be a dear and hand me the sugar?" he croaked silently, enviously eyeing a ceiling lamp as it swayed nonchalantly to an unheard rhythm. It was the only way he had to evade the three pairs of glaring eyes that sent chills jiving up and down his spine.

"_Professor..." _the blonde girl whined desperately, fidgeting uncomfortably under the leer of intense green eyes, "_He's _staring_ at me!"_

The Professor smiled good naturedly at the black haired boy in question, a tiny spark of hope warming his voice, "Batch, would you please stop looking at Bubbles? Hmm?"

"_His name's __**Butch**__."_ He hadn't even realized that it was the ginger-haired boy that had spoken in such a tone that made the room chill six degrees. Slapping his forehead in an exaggerated motion, the Professor attempted, once more, to alleviate the strangling tension.

"Oh, my mistake! Silly me! Hahah…huh…" His laugh was choked by the six disapproving stares he received shortly after. "Eeeh…" came his tired and dry sigh, "Tough crowd…"

The black cat clock ticked monotonously on the wall, reminding him of the few hours he had left to convince his girls to accept the criminals, at least for the night. He groaned painfully in his throat, hope and patience slowly fleeing his body in waves.

"_Professor!"_ Utonium turned to his green eyed daughter and did his best to smile.

"Yes, Buttercup?"

"_In the kitchen," _she shot a suspicious glance at the trio of hooligans before tugging at her Father's partly burnt sleeve and urgently muttering, _"Now!"_

Though the sleeve strained valiantly to maintain some kind of connection to the rest of the Professors chargrilled lab coat, it was near tearing from the force with which Buttercup was pulling. And when Buttercup lightly threw him on the most comfortable of the chairs, Professor Utonium could only heave a sigh of defeat as he looked on at cross pink and lime green eyes.

_.x.X.x._

The boys clumped together once the two goody-goodies and the oddball Professor left the room. It was obvious by the tension on Butch's face, the annoyance on Brick's, and the worry etched on Boomer's, that their 'arrangement' wasn't going to work out. They needed to bail.

"We need to ditch these _losers_." Butch hadn't even waited for Brick's input. He hated the place. It was too cozy…too comfy… it was rank with the smell of fruits, niceness and –_ugh- _girls. He shivered, realising that he might have been tempted to stay the night if he spent even a moment more on the marshmallow scented cushions (which was, in his mind, a sin akin to breaking a pinkie promise). No, he wanted out.

Brick was about to interject about hating to be interrupted, if not for Boomer's louder-than-a-whisper of "How do we do that?" that startled him and caused his arm to drift past its first destination, Butch's head, and arrive with a _smack_ on the fat of Boomer's cheek, startling the blonde.

"HEY!" Boomer was indignant, "What was _that_ for?" he seethed, shoving his crimson brother into the table.

Though Brick thought himself quite patient by most evil standards, he found it impossible to tolerate non-consensual intruding of his personal space. His assault was offensive—the signal for outright war. So it was, with a combination of annoyance and need for domination, that he blindly shoved his blonde haired brother onto the disturbingly pink table and sent the pitcher of lukewarm liquid spiraling onto the carpeted floor at the feet of the cyan colored PowerPuff girl.

And that was when everything went quiet.

The tension rose as the room seemed to move in slow motion. The girl's eyes darted between the rapidly growing puddle and the trio of boys, too shocked to process the change in atmosphere. In the same instant-the same breath even- she rushed towards the kitchen, wailing as loudly as her lungs would allow and leaving the boys to their bidding. Brick hadn't even let go of Boomer's shirt.

_.x.X.x._

...

…

…

Silence coasted through the room as seconds crawled by at a snail-like pace. The floors needed to be waxed-again. The oven was gathering debris on the sides. There was a leaky faucet somewhere too. It was amazing how one's surroundings were suddenly so much more interesting when there were two super-powered kids staring you down.

On the one hand, he really had nothing to lose in explaining the Boy's power dilemma to his darlings. His angels would surely understand the situation. On the other hand, he knew this claim to be horribly wrong. It was impossible for him to recall exactly when he'd added "Sprinkle of Vindictiveness" to the Chemical X mixture, but the recent years had made it a chore to deny its fruit.

The Professor opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. He repeated this action once more, briefly pausing and rubbing his hand under his chin—wasn't he forgetting something?—then closing his mouth once more. The third cycle earned a mixture of annoyance and fatigue from the two girls standing before him.

"_Pro-fes-sor!" _Buttercup whined, arms gyrating frustrated circles at her sides. _"Answer the quest-tion!"_

Utonium blinked at the girl, startled. "Me?" he asked, pointing a finger at a lightly scorched breast pocket.

Blossom nodded.

"You want me…to answer the question…?" The Professor repeated, his fingertips forming a steeple.

Buttercup rolled her eyes. The Professor pursed his lips slightly and he tilted his head in her direction, wondering where exactly she'd redeveloped that habit. 'Fong-shway' or 'Bombay' or whatever aside, they'd need to have a chat about that later.

"Figuratively speaking…" The words came deliberately and slowly, "What if the boys needed to stay for, say, a week or so?"

"Well," Blossom responded first, eyes narrowing at the suspicious question, "Figuratively speaking, that might be an impossibility."

Understandable. "And say," his awkward sashaying of shoulders was meant to be a shrug, "Say they needed to stay for, I don't know, a few months perhaps? While I do research?" He smiled innocently, batting his eyelashes at the two girls.

"I'm glad this is figurative, then."

The Professor held back a wince and was about to propose a final "impossibility", had it not been for the blood-curdling sound emanating from the living room. Eardrums split, walls cracked and shrapnel scattered in search of solace as Bubbles ran into the room, eyes livid and self significantly perturbed.

"PRO-FESS-SOOOOR!" the foundation trembled, eager to shush the young girl. "They spilt _water_ on the _carpets_!"

_.x.X.x._

"_WOOHOO!"_

Alive. Unhindered. For the first time in weeks, he felt… free. Butch was free. The chemical X was surging through his body. He was bursting with the energy he'd been separated from. Relishing the power he had craved for so long. Forget the _Loserpuff_ girls and their father.

"_Butch is back, Baby!"_ He bellowed, carving his insignia into a nearby building. If this was freedom, then it was a beautiful feeling. Ecstasy. It made him wonder why he suddenly felt sick to his stomach, why he was suddenly plummeting towards the Earth. He questioned why the clouds he'd flown amongst stared back at him as though he were unworthy. The concrete greeted him with thin, crooked smiles, slowly warping into smoke as the world around him took on a shade of devilish red.


End file.
